


XV. The Devil

by sharklion



Series: Rider-Waite-Smith [4]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Blackmail, Dubious Consent, M/M, Vampire AU, badly in need of editing but I don't really feel like doing it right now, gratutious violence, ygoshipolympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharklion/pseuds/sharklion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fifteenth trump of the major arcana, the Devil, can be read to signify bondage, violence, sexuality, extraordinary efforts, addiction, and that which is predestined but is not, for this reason, evil.  (Shun doesn't have the control to say no, but he has enough to <i>hate</i> what he agreed to.)  A vampire AU.<br/>---<br/>After a minute, Akaba raises his head from the desk, and puts the cracked red-dyed lenses of his glasses back to his face. He smiles as if Shun has given him a rare unexpected gift, rather than if he'd just attempted murder. "Are you still interested in a reward, Kurosaki?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	XV. The Devil

The aching in his veins is not rare. 

Hunger is rarely abated more than a day before it come spiralling back in, in weakness. Shun stumbles to Akaba Reiji's room, unsteady— three days, this time. Aching has put down roots and carved his body up so pain pulls through everything. All his blood is running blue. He would bite his lip until he bled but he doesn't have any blood he can afford to lose. His vision is perfection but his focus is shot, riddled through. Every motion he sees his body jerks towards it, a hunting instinct for prey. He's killed what feels like half the vermin in the building, most of them unintentionally— their blood helps not at all, but at this stage of hunger, he's lucid enough to stop himself only _after_ he's drained their small bodies dry.

A vampire cannot starve to death. A vampire can only _wish_ it could.

He hammers at Akaba's door, and the wood gives and rattles beneath his fists. Barely. He's so weak, he can't rip it from its hinges. It swings open and Shun starts to fall forward inside, and braces himself quickly on the first solid thing in reach.

Akaba smiles with Shun's hands grasping either side of his waist. "I see you've missed me." He doesn't laugh with anything but his eyes, even as the words his mouth shape are formed in dry amusement.

Shun answers using his teeth, not words. He pulls himself up clumsily to Akaba's throat, and closes his mouth around it. His canines pierce through the skin to Akaba's artery, and he can feel Akaba's skin trying to close up the wound around his teeth— unlike Shun, Akaba is well-fed. He laps from him, sticky tyrant's blood noxious in his mouth. It rattles loose a memory of drinking from bottles, wincing, then the first feverish night, his eyes stinging and burning and in the morning they weren't brown in the mirror anymore.

The morning when they'd all been so empty with a craving they couldn't describe so they'd ascribed it other hungers— Ruri talking about ice cream, and Ute missing hot udon soups. Shun could imagine her throat working with laughter, as Shun had sided with Ute— how could she want anything cold when they cold already? But really he would have eaten anything, he was so hungry and so hollow. Ruri was warm and full of life and he thought about her throat, and he would have eaten absolutely anything at all.

He slows mid-swallow, his eyes slowly sliding back open, his grip trembling.

"Good morning, Kurosaki." Akaba puts his hands over Shun's own, cool and steady and pulls them back away from him, onto Shun's own waist. The pairs of twin pin-pricks Shun's bite left are already sealing away, leaving sourceless streams of blood. He leans forward to lick it off— it's already been bled, he won't let it go to waste— and Akaba doesn't stop him until Shun's already dragged his tongue across his neck, in a quick swipe. 

He doesn't register what he's done until he's done it, either. Shame digs a firepit in his stomach and burns there and he looks Akaba defiantly in the eye, temper flaring, silently daring Akaba to say something. Lucidity is coming back to him like the steady tide but his self-control is still caught in a dragging abyssal current. 

Aloud, he replies, "Shut up."

"I am being quite generous with you, Kurosaki." Akaba reminds him, desiccated as the words on page of a particularly censored history textbook. There's a lot Akaba isn't saying. Like: do you remember those comrades of yours that are here under arrest for terrorism in the basement holding cells? You can join them, if you like. I am sure they would be glad to see you participating in their hunger strike, though less than happy with you when you break it. But then, he'd said it to Shun only three days ago, when Shun had stopped coming to him to feed. He didn't need reminding.

"What do you _want_?" he grinds out.

"Our relationship could be mutually beneficial. The man who did this to your city, who quarantined it and infested it with his ill-trained Academia vampires, is Akaba Leo. I have my own reasons to work against him."

"What makes you think I'd be useful against him?" 

Akaba guides him further into the room, and shuts behind him the heavy door with his shadow, moving independently. It's a cheap party trick, but a reminder that Akaba has power to spare, while Shun is more than half-starved. "Not you in specific. Rather, your Resistance would be, and as a vampire, one of the very enemy they were formed to fight against. . . I have leverage over you."

"You are not going to _blackmail_ me into turning against them!" He growls.

"No. I am going to feed you information as to his weak points. I am going to give you resources to make your resistance _more_ formidable, not less. You are already fighting against him, and it is easier than mustering my own forces. This city is his territory, and there are very few I can trust. If I am questioned sending you back to the Resistance, as far as he will be concerned you are keeping me informed as to _their_ movements, not the other way around."

"And you get to keep your hands clean." Shun's lip curls in disgust, but Akaba nods. "And if I tell you to go fuck yourself. . ."

He doesn't complete his sentence, because he already knows, but Akaba tells him levelly, "You'll be returned to the same cell as your comrades, and treated as they are. When your hunger gets the better of you, I am capable of making any one of them the same offer."

"You bastard!" His hands wrap around Akaba's throat, but Akaba doesn't need to breathe. His throat is cold and still and his chest does not rise and fall as he watches him, impassively. Slowly, Shun loosens his grip. He says again, quieter, " _You bastard_." And lets his hands drop completely, and he turns away.

"Yes, as it so happens. Vampires are not capable of reproduction." 

Shun turns around and punches him in his stupid vampire face because _how dare fucking Akaba do this then joke about it._ Akaba's face turned away with the force of the punch, then back to look at Shun. His face is impassive again, but his glasses are askew. "Is that your answer?"

" _ **No**_ ," Shun injects venom enough into the word to kill a dinner party. "I'll do it."

"Understood. I'll call Nakajima, and let him know they're allowed to be released. You have taken credit for the incident, and will be taken to solitary. Due to weakness from hunger, it will take you a day or two to pull off your escape, and return to your comrades." Akaba smiles, describing the summary of the script he clearly expected Shun to follow, then said as an aside, "You will have some more time to arrange things here, and receive instructions. If you are still thirsty, we can finish what you began earlier."

The offer of more blood is an anchor that outweighs even his desire to get as far away from this bastard as possible. He retreats to the corner of Akaba's office, away from his desk. As Akaba makes the call, he sits underneath the only lamp in the room out of spite, even though he's aware that if it turns on his vampiric flesh will burn too. 

Akaba finishes the call and puts the phone down in its cradle. "Now then, where were we?" He takes a pen knife from his desk and slits his wrist right above it. Three drops splotch against it to stain and Shun's soles touch the floor twice that many times but at twice the speed of the blood falling to catch the fourth drop in his mouth— wrenching Akaba's arm to his face and fixing his mouth over the flow. The blade was not silver and the stream does not last for very long, and he has enough pride not to lick the droplets on the desk— this time.

"Do you think that's funny?" he demands— Akaba making him race for his blood like he was following a vampiric three-second rule, watching him lick wherever careless place he had spilt it.

"I don't find being fed on particularly pleasant. I am not so unselfish as to agree if I do not get anything out of it."

Just as Shun thought, the answer was yes. Vampires are fundamentally hedonistic creatures, which is why the Academia is fucking up Heartland so badly— they can use it as their playground for all their desires, so they _play_ their hunting games here. He knows that this isn't just theory, because he knows it's something going wrong with him, too, because he thinks about what other ways he can _entertain_ Akaba, without minding, then feeling roiling disgust because he doesn't mind. He forces it down. "Then I'll give you something else." He says it too grudgingly to be business-like.

Akaba must understand what he's insinuating, because his voice sounds softer, almost indulgent. "Something else? Demonstrate, Kurosaki."

Shun pulls Akaba's swivel-chair to the side, to face him, and kneels. The carpet beneath his knees makes it real— it's not another cold nightmare, down in the bunker or on the streets. He'd feel the rough gravel of broken aspault, the scab-texture of concrete seeping in from reality through the dream. The soft give of carpet beneath his knees could only be real, he doesn't remember what it felt like well enough to recreate it in even the worst kind of wet-dream. 

He reaches out to Akaba's belt, unbuckles it, and one hand pulls the tab of the zipper down while he is intensely aware of Akaba's eyes on him. Waiting, and watching. Like a voyeur at a peep-show, even while Shun has his hands on him, the teeth of the zipper parting and Shun suddenly ceases to care about any of the manipulation of this, and just is struck with the desire to shatter that calm, break the calm in his eyes like red-rimmed glasses underneath body-weight.

The fabric of his pants drop down to, for once, cover his ankles ,when Shun shoves Reiji's pants to his knees. It's a strange almost modesty, his briefs still on, only his thighs revealed. Thirst wells up in Shun's throat and he dips his mouth to the skin of one thigh. He parts his mouth against his skin, the false sense of life beneath it— there's no heartbeat for a pulse but he can feel the flow through his lips. Anticipation jabs at his gut but before he can continue, Reiji's hand fists in his hair and pulls him back by the roots. "If you have exotic preferences for feeding locations, it will have to wait. Fulfill your end of the bargain _first_ , then you may take your reward." He forces him back down, into the cotton texture of his briefs and Shun growls, but doesn't fight the pressure of Reiji's hand.

He reaches with his hands this time, though his face is so close, and maybe it's spite that has him not slip his fingers beneath the waistband. Akaba doesn't _deserve_ something personal, something intimate. The fabric between Shun's fingers and Reiji's dick is like the barrier of a contract between them, the blackmail and promised reward. The texture of the thin cloth is friction between them, and he doesn't care to play at being gentle. He searches out Akaba's anatomy roughly, cupping the balls and sliding over them, tracing his fingers through the fabric to find Akaba's still soft shaft— of course, he isn't aroused.

Not yet. Shun takes hold of his shaft, one hand at the base, and his other hand still on his balls, his thumb circling them, pressure working in rough pulses. The palm of his hand his grasps firmly, and he matches the rhythm of his other hand, synced like a heartbeat neither of them have. His thumb works up the shaft, through the veining he can only just feel through his briefs, to his head. He circles around it mechanically, like he's woken up aroused and he's wanking to get it over with— he has better things to do. He knows how to bring himself up to orgasm fast and he can feel the pavlovian stirring at his own crotch from the remembered movements— how the sensitivity doesn't seem to lessen after death and into un-death. He thumbs Reiji's head and he feels him getting thicker in his grasp, the beginnings of arousal and Shun draws his other hand back and _finally_ tears Akaba's underwear away, shameless at the use of his claws to do so literally. If he's being reduced to this by his cursed blood, then he will take all it has to offer— he has no pride to lose here.

His mouth is still wet from the droughts of Akaba's wrist, wet and second-hand warm. He draws his tongue across it, wrapping around it in licks, and he moves his hand out of the way, back to Akaba's balls. He's never done this before, but he knows what's sensitive on his own body. It's a twisted beginner's hedging his bets, in the world of sexual congress. He knows Akaba is weighing his actions, judging them because that's what Akaba _does_ and there's no way that would stop now, just because Shun has his lips at his cock, his tongue leaving saliva and copper trails down his flesh, even as Akaba is undeniably hard from the attention. He guides his mouth slow up to the head then takes him in his mouth. 

Breath is unnecessary to a habit but he inhales through his nostrils out of habit, preparation to suck, the slight pressure of suction forming in his mouth, around Akaba's erect cock. Was this enough? He didn't care. Akaba's fault for picking him. He drew his lips back and dragged his teeth across Akaba's skin as he bobbed his head, taking him further into his mouth then drawing back. But then, Akaba bucked his hips forward and Shun made a strangled noise of protest, as he refused to let Shun move away. Akaba's hand tangled in his hair again— not enough. He wouldn't be let off until he _finished_. Any desire Shun might have had to drag it out and make him squirm died as dead as they were, and he moved his hands away, fisting them in the fabric of his own pants, clenched tight as he kept up the pressure in his mouth.

Akaba got the message, and removed his hand from Shun's hair. He was almost humiliated— it was that he _hated_ Akaba, not that he _couldn't_ take it. He drew his mouth back and took him in his hands again, this time without any barrier of cloth between them. He worked faster, rough, and Akaba, already left sensitive was the one to make a strangled noise this time but Shun didn't let up. Akaba's hips buck and he moans and Shun is made all the more aware of his own erection, that he's getting off on this even if it's just an act of necessity. Akaba comes in a spurt, spilling himself all over Shun's hands and splattering his face. Vampires really are _disgusting_ creatures.

He hasn't had enough. His hands are slippery with Akaba's cum and there's something debauched and crude to the thought of using his own fluid to enter him that's undeniably appealing. He doesn't give him time to settle back in the chair but shoves one hand beneath him, sliding one slick finger into his asshole fully. The second he shoves in immediately afterward and Akaba hisses and spreads his legs, raising them out of the way to give him better access. His pale hands are white knuckled, holding onto the arms of the chair, and Shun takes his time preparing him, hoping his erection will die in the meantime, that sanity will overtake him and he'll be satisfied stopping.

But no, he wants more. He wants to ruin the man who killed him, who drove a wedge between him and the living world, who made him one of the _things_ he hated most. One of the still walking hedonist dead. He wants Akaba to cry out, he wants to empty him out, he wants more than just his cock in his mouth, he wants to put his teeth to his neck and drain out all his life like it will fill up his empty veins and cavity heart and bring him back to living like a drought creek after rainfall. He wants to glut himself on his power and use it to save at least the city, if it's too late to save himself.

He wants to scissor his fingers wider so he does, preparing him. For a moment he makes the mistake of looking up to see Akaba's pupils dilated, his mouth agape with deceptive flat teeth, and for a moment Shun feels like the villain, here. He yanks his hand away and pulls Akaba up and shoves him against the desk, so he doesn't have to see his face and as his hips collide with the desk and his shoulders shake with rebound Shun gets for a moment the impression that he's laughing.

Akaba's hand skitters across the desk surface to a drawer, and he pulls out lube that he places on the desk. His meaning is obvious, even now, about to be fucked over his desk by a fledgling he's completely in control of the happenings— all of this was within his calculations, and he had prepared for it. The temptation to hurl it across the room only doesn't happen because he doesn't want to stumble across his shame days from now, if Akaba refuses to pick it up and leaves it there as a reminder. He shoves down his own pants then smears the lube across his fingers and down on his own dick, sensitive and hard already each motion takes him only closer to the edge. He finishes, and without thrusts into Reiji, the small intake of breath all the confirmation he needed that he'd been caught off guard for the timing. With so few victories, Shun has to make do with the little ones.

His hands grip both sides of Akaba's trim waist and he thrusts again, slamming his hips into the desk and Akaba braces himself against as Shun finds his rhythm, slow then faster. He's so near it won't take long at all, then he'll be done with this and get his promised reward. He can almost taste copper in his mouth, the iron of red blood far better than the salt of Reiji's flesh, the energy and vigor and clarity it will give him. 

The friction is painful, he must not have used enough lube but he doesn't care— he'll feel like a person again and he thrusts harder, more force so Akaba is hitting the desk with bruising force and he is at the edge— the thought of Akaba marked from their acts, skin fading blue and purple marks that _Shun_ had left, knocked the sense out of him and he was lost to just the feeling of his hips knocking against his own, the solidity of the desk like a bulwark against a drowning tide of frenzy and pleasure. Below them, the polished surface reflects his gold eyes blown wide. 

His hands snake around to Akaba's front, and his fingertips trail to his navel and Shun realizes something is missing— the mark he'd left when he died— when he'd fought back and slit Akaba like a fish, throat to crotch, and hoped in his frenzy he would take out his own men but then he'd killed Shun instead. In a passionate moment he could only think it wasn't _fair_ and he grabbed the penknife Akaba had used earlier on his wrists and drove it in then down his ribcage end to the guts, as he came inside Akaba with one last jarring thrust. Shun spilled out everything white and pure inside him and Akaba fell forward for just a moment, unable to support his weight as he clutched for his own guts and the force and momentum beat his head down against the crime-scene mess of his desk. Shun, laying cold against his corpse relaxes in the haze of one singular, perfect moment, then pulls out, the long side locks of his hair trailing into the sea of red on the desk. 

He should feel sick, probably. But there is so much blood, right there, that he lowers his mouth to the desk to drink and takes a long swallow. He knows already that none of that did any good— the scar is knitting itself back together, faster this time without the blade of silver he'd used for that first slice. He's probably lost something significant here, but he feels so vital.

After a minute, Akaba raises his head from the desk, and puts the cracked red-dyed lenses of his glasses back to his face. He smiles as if Shun has given him a rare unexpected gift, rather than if he'd just attempted murder. "Are you still interested in a reward, Kurosaki?"


End file.
